


Gaping

by yeaka



Category: Travelers (TV)
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Philip’s lonely and hot.
Relationships: Ray Green/Philip Pearson | Traveler 3326
Kudos: 20





	Gaping

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Travelers or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The lingering pains of withdrawal are becoming marginally more bearable, if not really _better_ , but Philip still spends way too much time lying on his back, staring at the dingy ceiling of his makeshift bedroom, just sort of wallowing. He’s a young historian on a premier team and should have things _to do_ , but he doesn’t—there are so many giant gaps between missions where the rest of his team is just caught up in their lives and Philip... flounders. 

He shuts his eyes and tries not to think about the phantom itch below his skin or the nagging edges of his own brain. He even tries to meditate like Trevor’s taught him, as best he can without bothering to sit up. He tries to stop feeling all together, and when that doesn’t work, he tries to at least shift his focus to feelings that don’t hurt. There’s a familiar warmth pooling in the small of his gut. He blinks his eyes open and keeps staring. He’s not picturing anything. There’s absolutely no reason for him to be _horny._

But he is. He’s bored and turned on. For all its clean air and free animals, the twenty first century sucks in so many ways. Philip never used to have such distractions—he grew up crammed together with too many sweat-slicked bodies, never any privacy or art or sensuality. Apparently his host body grew up just as dirty but depraved, and his unkempt figure’s used to things he doesn’t give it anymore. 

He can see the cell phone in his peripherals, perched on the nightstand. He figures a normal man his age would just call someone. Except Philip only has five people in his phone, and protocol dictates that he leave four of them alone. There’s no mission on, no reason to see the coworkers that aren’t really, truly _friends._

He could call Ray. He can _always_ call Ray. Ray told him that whilst typing the now-memorized digits into his phone for him. When Ray handed the phone back, he’d grabbed Philip’s wrist and _squeezed_ , eyes locked on Philip’s. He’d said _Any time, kid. Seriously. Any time._

Philip’s mouth is going dry. He doesn’t think Ray meant for that. But he’s seen Ray look at his mouth and heard Ray say _he’s open_ —maybe that’s what it means. Ray’s scruffy and older but clever enough, _kind_ in his own way, at least more so than Philip deserves. He’s been there for Philip before. 

He’s got that sort of rasp to his voice that Philip likes, and maybe Philip’s watched those calloused fingers play over the steering wheel with a sense of curiosity, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He’s not supposed to get involved. He’s still not sure how Ray insinuated himself into Philip’s life in the first place. 

Philip’s hand twitches, and he realizes he’s reaching for the phone. He doesn’t know why. He can’t call. Shouldn’t even text. He keeps pulling his arm back and snaking it out again. He knows his place, but he’s _lonely_ , and sometimes Philip just really wants to be _touched._ He’s sad enough to settle for a hug, even a handshake. Even the little squeeze Ray sometimes gives his shoulder when they part. Then he could lean in and breathe in Ray’s musky cologne. 

A sharp rap rattles the outside door. Philip shoots out of bed, automatically frantic. He weaves his way over before his heart’s finished racing. No one called him over the comms, and he doubts a messenger would come to him. 

He slides the door back, and sure enough, Ray’s standing there, hand in his overcoat pockets. He flashes Philip a grimy smile and greets, “Hey. I need a bet.”

Philip should’ve known. A part of him appreciates the frankness. The rest of him withdraws from the door. He sighs, “No.”

“C’mon.” Ray just follows him inside, slipping right through the entrance, taking the liberty of shutting it, cutting off the natural light. “Just a little one. Look, I know you just tipped me off last week, but—”

“I can’t keep doing this.” He’s already said that. But Ray doesn’t _get_ it. He thinks it’s so easy, that there aren’t any consequences. He doesn’t know Philip’s just a puppet on short strings. 

He takes a step closer to Philip, like the physical closeness is endearing, and he’s right. His voice even softens, tugging at Philip, because for some stupid reason, Philip always _wants_ to be good for him: “C’mon. Please.”

“...No...”

“Phil, it’s me.” Ray’s arms spread open. He’s crowding into Philip’s space and somehow hasn’t seemed to notice the state he caught Philip in. Maybe the baggy sweatpants are just hiding it well. “You can—”

Then something just sort of _snaps_ ; the strings slice open. Philip’s not _3326_ , but a living, breathing man in his prime with needs and wants and not a single person in the world to soothe them. He leans in and smothers Ray in a sloppy, awkward kiss where their noses bump. A few silent seconds, and then he pulls back, wanting to explain himself but having nothing to say. 

Ray looks at him. Philip shuffles his feet and waits for Ray to run. 

Instead, Ray shrugs and grunts, “That’s good too.” His grin grows like it’s better than good—great—worth a lot more than the bet would’ve been. “So you wanna...”

Philip’s already on Ray again, both hands around the back of Ray’s head, and it feels _so good_ to have Ray’s fingers tangle up in his hair. He needs it more than Ray could ever know. Not even the kiss itself. Just... _feeling him._

Philip doesn’t know what to do beyond that. Fortunately, Ray seems to. He shuffles Philip back towards the bed and chuckles, “Well, all bets are off now...”


End file.
